I Should Have Worn Ruby Slippers

Beniteau, Maple, Simpson, Millard, Chatsworth, Ferris, Farnum, Bedford Sq., Woodingham, Mildred, Stellma, Woodelm, Ravine Terrace.

Those are the names of every street I have lived on.

Thirteen houses, and I'm not quite home.

When I was growing up, my father "flipped houses" before the idea or term was ever coined. Although he made money doing so, his purpose was more for therapy. He enjoyed buying homes that needed fixing up and remodeling. Once the project was done and my mother was just beginning to decorate, off we'd go again.

I remember him telling me it wasn't good to ever pay a house off because at the end of the term, the price paid was way more than it was ever worth. "The real estate investment should be a stepping stone onto the next house, building equity as you go." I wish I didn't listen to him.

I've flipped a few homes in the past ten years but not because of my father's philosophy, my reason is a whole separate post in itself! I did pretty well with each new house.

My current house is what it is, a house I was going to sell as soon as my youngest graduated from high school. It would grow to have a pretty good nest egg in equity.

Screeeeeeeeeeetch, not so fast. The year I was to sell, the bubble burst. So now, here I sit. Still, it's not bad, it's just not where I wanted to be.

This final house was going to be a "quick sell", a nice little starter home for a young couple. Although it now has 4 bedrooms and three full baths, if I count the finished basement, it's still smaller than a few of my previous homes. It definitely lacks character and charm. With the idea to sell in a short time, I saw no reason to put much into personalizing it.

Hindsight ....

Thanks to FaceBook, I've reconnected with many old friends. As I look at their photos and see how their lives unfolded and how their families grew throughout the years, I realize the importance of a "home".

The "homes" I created were for the moment. As I flip through my old photos, the great memories have been captured, but in reality, they aren't relived day to day as I walk through my current house.

If I had raised my children in one house, I would now be able to go room by room and experience the giggles and laughter that a photograph can't quite possess. I'd have nicks on the woodwork that told stories only a mom could recall. I'd have the kids bedrooms to sit in and remember their little faces and the mischief they created.

I know home is where the heart it, or where you hang your hat, but anyone can own a house, only love and memories make it a home.